


Obscurity

by luvkurai



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chasing Sex, Did I mention sex?, Established Relationship, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Sex in the forest, Violent Sex?, role play, therapeutic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvkurai/pseuds/luvkurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I will give you a five minute head start,” he had said. “Then, I am coming for you.”</p><p>Hannibal chases Will through the forest beside Will's property.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obscurity

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this Hannibal Kink Meme Prompt: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1847.html?thread=1433399#cmt1433399
> 
> Though I deviated more than slightly...

He’s scared—really scared. His hands are bound together with thick rope that he couldn’t untie even if he stopped running for a second to try. He’s lucky to even have his underwear. Everything else has been taken, his shirt, his pants, even his shoes. With every pounding step rocks and twigs slice across his heel and toes. His heart is beating in his throat and he _knows_ he has to silence his breathing, has to make his footsteps fall quietly, but he can’t, he can’t even think straight.

Trees rush by him, some he recognizes but most he does not. These are _his woods_. He _knows_ them, but now, in the middle of the night, he can’t see anything and all the comfort he’s accumulated with this forest has flown from him. The lack of his glasses makes it even more difficult.

When his lungs feels as though they may burst he slows to a stop, allowing his back to rest against a rough tree trunk. The bark digs into his bare back but he needs to take the weight off his feet, even if only marginally. For a long moment, he forces himself to hold his breath, to listen for any movement out in the darkness.

 _“I will give you a five minute head start,”_ he had said. _“Then, I am coming for you.”_

Even if there was something to hear, he feels like the sound of his own heartbeat would drown it out. Why is he even bothering to torture himself like this? He should have given in, laid himself down without a fight. The game insisted upon really isn’t worth it.

Somewhere, off to his right, a stick cracks underfoot. The sound is like a gunshot sounding out, in the forest in the dead of night.

“ _Try to make it entertaining for me,”_ he had said _. “At the least.”_

Will moves too quickly. His balance is thrown off. His foot catches a root, protruding from the tree beside him, and he tumbles to the ground. Cries out. He wants to slap himself for it; nothing could have given his position away so wholly. He struggles to get back up but with his hands bound in front of him he can’t move quickly enough. All he can do is rise up on his knees, but then he must stay completely stationary.

In the end he lets himself fall forward, attempting to scurry across the forest floor on his knees and elbows. Wetness accumulates on his limbs. He imagines mud covering them; his pursuer would not be pleased, but how could anything else be expect of Will?

Moving this way is quickly exhausting, his muscles cramp at the awkwardness.

“Oh, _Will_.” The voice comes laced with disappointment. He rolls back onto his stomach and tries to crawl. A foot crashes into his side, only barely not breaking any ribs, but hurting like hell regardless. The pain is spectacularly numbing, though Will feels guilty for the sentiment. “I did give fair warning that you would have to do better this time.”

Will whimpers, quaking on the ground. He wants to scream but his breathing is to shallow to attain such energy. In a show of super strength that _really_ shouldn’t belong to the man, Will feels himself pulled off the ground by his hair. Before his eyes can search the dark obscurity his body flings into a state of weightlessness—so unexpected that his stomach drops. Then, he slams against a tree. All the air knocks out of his lungs.

The bark is rough, sharp against his bare back. Shallow lines cut into him, nothing more than stinging scrapes. He makes an attempt to push himself away, but his feet slip in the mud. He comes close to sliding all the way down before a hand presses against his shoulder, holding him in place.

Hannibal’s face swims into clarity through the darkness. Will can only barely see his expression, the twist and turns of his mouth, but his hazy maroon eyes seem more obvious in the night than in the day.

Will can’t help it—he leaps forward, awkwardly aware of the position of his hands as he makes a sorry attempt at pressing his lips against Hannibal’s. He misses, as expected. Rather than falling comfortably against Hannibal’s chest, his hands are caught up, raised up above his head and pinned against the tree with one hand. The absence of his arms to even hang in front of him in the form of a makeshift shield leaves him feeling impossibly vulnerable.

The susceptibility only strengthens when a hand delves into his final article of clothing, pressing down his cock almost painfully.

“Oh—oh god—“ The hand on his wrists shifts slightly so Hannibal can look at his watch.

“It took me six minutes to catch you. Not including the head start I gifted you. Do you remember what I told you?” Hannibal asks. Thumb presses against the head. “Before I set you loose.”

Will racks his brain, thoughts coming slowly and brokenly against the distraction at his crotch. His head twitches to the side because he legitimately cannot remember and he doesn’t want Hannibal to become angry, not when he’s completely at the man’s mercy like this.

“Ah, shall I remind you? I said that I would do as I please with you.” He doesn’t wait long for Will’s answer, leaning forward until his lips brush against earlobe. “Are you going to be good?”

“ _Yes…_ ” Will breathes. Hannibal hums jubilantly. Teeths against Will’s ear to get him mewling. Arousal builds beneath Hannibal’s hand and Will’s heated, flushed skin is uncomfortable against the cold air of the woods. His neck arches off the tree. Once Will is hard, Hannibal pulls him away from the tree to bend him carefully downwards, onto the ground. He keeps Will’s hands in his grip and pins him to the ground on his stomach, arms stretched helplessly above his head. Will imagines the finger-shaped bruises that he’ll need to hide for the rest of the week. The final item of clothing is quickly discarded, tossed somewhere across the forest floor.

“Rise up on your knees. Now.” He clambers to obey, knees pained against the hard earth. The rustle of fabric, the release of a zipper. Two fingers find his hole, prodding their way inside and there is no lubricant and it _hurts_. He’s probably bleeding, but the sting is so intense that it wipes his mind clean of everything but _this_. That alone makes it pleasurable; his erection does not even flag.

A third finger is soon to follow and _then_ Hannibal brushes his prostate, firm then light, firm then light in a repetitive rhythm that is almost too much to endure.

Too soon the fingers are gone, placed on Will’s hips to leave yet another set of bruises. He’s a bit surprised there isn’t an indentation there, formed from Hannibal’s hand’s overuse. The man is wasting no time with foreplay tonight. They are substituted by the head of Hannibal’s cock pressing against his ass forcefully, though it is not yet enough to achieve penetration. He’s waiting for something.

“ _Please_ ,” Will finally begs, somehow very able to tell what Hannibal wants from him. The searing stretch he feels, when Hannibal breaches him, makes his mouth fall open in a silent scream. His knees give out slightly and his face pounds into the earth. When he inhales sporadically, dirt falls into his mouth. It is gritty on his tongue, between his teeth. The position was uncomfortable before, but with a mouthful of mud, with rocks digging into his face, it is only worse.

Hannibal must sense this, because when Will attempts to force the earth out of his mouth with coughs he presses against his prostate. Circles his hips just so. Will bucks down, stomach and cock hitting the ground. The cool, heavy feeling on his skin makes him overtly aware that the entire front half of his body is dirty now. It becomes more so as Hannibal continues to rut into him.

He knows he’s bleeding around Hannibal’s cock, can feel the contrast of the heat there with the cool on the rest of his body. He also knows that despite how agonizing the entirety of this ordeal is, orgasm is impending quickly.

“You need to cum, correct?” The voice in his ear is surprisingly breathless. To call Will’s mind to attention, he squeezes at his captive wrists. Bone-crushing. “Should I help you along, or leave you _wanting?”_

The idea that Hannibal could keep him from orgasm seems preposterous, he’s so close. But then Hannibal presses his hand against Will’s abdomen, just above his navel and lifts, so his cock separates from the friction he’s creating with the earth. Simultaneously, he leans back slightly. Hannibal continues to pound into Will, filling him almost to the base, but now misses his prostate entirely. Orgasm evades Will entirely, leaving him needy wheezing.

“No, please, _Hannibal—“_ The man laughs above him. He’s obviously approaching his orgasm, leaving Will in the dust. His thrusts have become more sporadic, as if his muscles are coiled tight to spring. Will wants to cry—he’s too over-stimulated, possesses too much energy with nowhere to exert it. No opportunity for release. A sob breaks free from his throat, echoing around the silent wood.

When Hannibal’s hand moves across the dip of his navel to the base of his cock, he thinks he sees stars. His doctor shushes, cooing at him like he’s a child, rather than a grown man. It takes only one long stroke down his shaft for Will to come.

“I would not dream of forgetting you, my dear boy,” Will hears him say through the haze. The man himself comes with a few short grunts, a final, haphazard press against the sweet spot.

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely, after Hannibal pulls out of him and stands beside him. All the tenseness built up from the case is gone, dissipated into oblivion and it is thanks to Hannibal agreeing to do this for him. “You were right.” _Again._ “I feel a lot better now.”

The case was getting to be too much; everything was getting to be too much. He had been angrily indicating to Hannibal that he couldn’t _possibly_ understand when his psychiatrist/friend/lover suggested safe role play. A game of sorts, involving being chased through the woods—an intense adrenaline rush followed by an equally intense sexual release of hormones to ease the tension. This is the game’s third play. Will is glad to feel his clear head, light upon his shoulders, though the sex would have been worth it even if it didn’t work.

His doctor smiles down at him. Will sees his teeth glinting and smiles back. He bends down to brush dirt and twigs from Will’s hair—Will can only imagine his appearance. Looks over Will’s muddied face and body with a faint mixture of disdain and approval. He doubts that Hannibal feels any approval towards the mess on the knees of his own trousers.

“It was my pleasure, William. Please do not hesitate to ask if you wish to do this again. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> luvkurai.tumblr.com


End file.
